


Everyone has an Origin Story

by A_Hippo_Named_Saelym (Kairacahra1869)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst?, Disabled Character, Disabled!Chloe, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not in This Fic, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated as chapters are posted, amanda is good in this, but they'll be like npcs, coming-of-age?, different POVs, great parent amanda, he doesn't have heterochromia sorry guys, i will not allow her name to be slandered, just expect a bunch of ocs, like really slow burn, lots of random minor ocs now that i think of it, markus is part german, most of them are adult figures, necessary for plot and world building, no beta we die like men, sort of high school AU, sort of human au, suspense?, that was a lie, that's a post-deviant android markus feature only, you can fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-09-16 14:46:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairacahra1869/pseuds/A_Hippo_Named_Saelym
Summary: The journey of a little boy and his dad as they learn to overcome a tragedy in their family.A coming-to-age story that Connor is trying not be in, but finds himself being strung along anyway.A self-discovery anecdotal where a little boy and his angry younger brother might be what helps Chloe find her place in the world.





	1. Preface: Cause We Need One

**Author's Note:**

> Pro Tip: Read in between the lines.

To prevent all sorts of confusion in this fic, I’ve decided to dedicate a “chapter” to preface it. SO, here’s what you need to know:

  1. This is a pre-dbh “human” au. The idea is based on some headcannons of mine where the models used for androids, excluding prostitute and children androids, are based on real-life people.  

    * Those under the R series (Chloe, Markus and Connor), as well as Amanda, were purposely modelled after real people Kamski has met irl and grown a connection to. So, irl, there was an actual Markus, Connor, and Chloe.  
  

  2. Not every main android character is going to find their counterpart in this story, and even those that will be featured won’t be called by the names we know and love them as, seeing as they didn’t form a connection with Kamski.  
  

  3. People’s personalities are going to be different from their androids. Partially because I don’t have a grasp on them, but mostly due to the fact that when androids deviate, they form their own personality. However, androids like the R series were supposed to be based off the personalities they are physically modelled after.  
  

  4. When I originally planned this AU, I had many ideas that would’ve made it much more heartbreaking than it needed to be, so I nuked it, but still expect some darker themes. I don’t know how in-depth it will go, as I’m constantly reworking it, so I will update tags accordingly as the need arrives. For now, I’m going to keep it rated M. Check for notes before and after each chapter for further clarification.  
  

  5. AMANDA STERN ISN’T EVIL OR EVEN REMOTELY BAD IN THIS FIC. I introduce her really early and I’d rather not read any comments about “AH! Amanda! Don’t trust her!!1!”. In this house, we respect and give Amanda a chance. Also, again, this is pre-dbh and I wholeheartedly believe that Human Amanda is completely different from AI Amanda.  
  

  6. Finally, I’m basically going to be telling TWO to THREE stories simultaneously per chapter. At the beginning of every chapter, there will be short snippets (italicised) that are purposely vague (but not really) before I get into the actual story. Pay attention to them. Or don’t.



For those who would like to know about posting schedule... give me a couple of chapters to figure it out for myself. I'll try to keep it consistent but I haven't written for a fandom in almost, oof, 3 years. Which might not sound like much, but man it's been a while. Constructive criticism would be phenomenal. Reviews, in general, would be great, but it's totally up to all y'all.

Please pay attention to any notes, before and/or after the story. They'll be useful to me and you.


	2. You Have to Start Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor little boy... Daddy's got him though.
> 
> Connor hates new schools and being a freshman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a vague description of a death told through the POV of a toddler. Other than that, this is just an introductory chapter.

_Before he could blink, he felt the soft arms of his mom wrap around his small frame. Colours blurred together as the world tilted, sounds became a loud dizzying white noise. The mixed voices, of anger and fear, were cut through by a single loud bang, punctuated by the sudden jerk of his mom and the bright swashes of red arcing over his vision. Stars explode behind his eyes as the world comes to an abrupt halt and everything stills on its side. It fades in and out for a moment and just when it seems that the world will be consumed in black, it shifts once more, and the little boy finds himself cradled in another set of arms, thicker, stronger ones, but still safe and secure. He shifts his head as the world blurs again in linear, and barely makes out the skewed moustache that belongs to his dad. He sees pale lilac fluttering to his right and reaches for the billowing fabric of his mom’s dress. Or he tries to, but it feels as though his arms are made of the noodles his dad is so proud of making when mom lets him take over in the kitchen. He feels water on his cheek and shifts his gaze up. His dad is saying something, over and over again, but his son can’t hear, and the boy is focused on the tears steadily streaming down his cheeks. He lifts his other hand and uses it to wipe them away, instead they paint his dad’s cheek red. He tries harder to wipe it. It gets redder. His dad cries harder. The world is fuzzy and dark again and, this time, the boy watches as it completely takes over his vision. Hands fall limp at his side and the screams and chaos around him go, blessedly, quiet._

 

* * *

 

Connor walks around his new high school, attempting to find the elusive Chemistry class that marks the first-class period of his day. He instead ends up finding the gym, the auditorium, the art hallway, and several staircases that seemingly lead to the same bathroom.

“Follow the posters,” he mutters, voice pitched higher in mockery. “they’ll lead you right to the room.” He scoffs and, not for the first time, wishes the school’s freshman starter packet included a map.

He pauses and takes a deep breath. This wasn’t his first rodeo, he knew that the school only seemed abnormally huge because he wasn’t used to the layout yet. If anything, what parts of the school he did discover were now permanently fixed in his mind, which should make his later classes easier to find. He looked around for a clock and when he couldn’t immediately see one, he did a secondary glance to ensure he was alone and pulled out his phone to check the time. The second bell rang some time ago, but as each class was a standard 45 minutes long, that would give him a good 5-10-minute window afterwards to make it worth searching. Getting to the class within the first 5 minutes would increase his chances of not being marked down as late, with the first 10 minutes being crucial in making sure he doesn’t interrupt in the middle of the teacher’s lecture. He might be able to push his new kid status in the case that he’s more than 10 minutes, but less than 15 minutes late, but this is also a freshman course so others in the same boat as him, but already in class, may have already- _foolishly_ \- used that excuse which would make it less likely to work for him. However, it’s always good to plan for worse case scenarios, so Connor makes a note of it as he puts his phone away. He still has 2 minutes left before the 5-minute mark, so he doesn’t worry too much.

He glances around and takes note of the colour of the lockers. They were yellow and, seeing as he was on the second floor, they probably belonged to the sophomores. He recalls the advisor’s words and remembers she mentioned something about blue lockers being the Junior’s and the science wing being nearer to them. Connor doesn’t recall seeing any red or green lockers, for freshman and seniors respectively, from the direction he came, so that only leaves him with continuing forward and hoping that he eventually reaches the end of this wing. He treks on with a sigh that vibrates the very air around him.

He jumps when someone responds to his sigh with an even heavier sigh of their own. He turns rapidly looking for the source, his curiosity beating out his need to be a good student and get to class on time.

The hallway has some student stragglers- ranging from freshman just as lost as he, though more frazzled, and seniors who looked simultaneously dead inside and free from burden- yet Connor couldn’t find where the sound might’ve come from.

He narrowed his eyes before letting out a small cough, his nose scrunching up as something tickled it.

“ _Cough cough._ ”

Once again, he spun wildly, the voice was clear but small and muffled. There were only lockers and classrooms near him. Hesitantly, he knocked on a locker near to him and jumped back when the voice said _ow!_

“Holy crap are you in the locker? Are you ok?” Connor didn’t have time to be saving some poor soul from the cramped walls of a locker- seriously, who shoves people into lockers anymore?- but before the person could answer, the tickling came back and Connor couldn’t hold it back. He scrunched his nose and tried to sniffle the oncoming sneeze, but it still came out loud enough to shatter someone’s ear drums and he felt his own ears turn red as people stopped in the hallway and looked at him like he offended their great-grandma in front of them.

 _“Bless you.”_ Came the disembodied voice and this time, Connor was able to catch where it was coming from. Ignoring the, less intense, stares, he pulled out his phone and sighed as he saw that he was on a call. Putting the phone to his ear, he sighed again and, this time, smiled softly when it was returned with the same cadence.

 _“Took you long enough.”_ The high, stuffy voice said on the other line. _“I thought you were dying or something when all I hear is shuffling and silence.”_

Connor scoffs, but it isn’t more than a slightly harder puff of air as he can’t quite keep the grin from his face. “Chloe! You damn near killed me. I thought I was going to have to damage school property to save some poor kid from a locker.”

Laughter crackled on the other line, high and sort of nasally. _“I take it your ass missed me, and that’s why it called?”_

“Nah, my left hip was feeling left out, I guess. Can’t imagine why with the abuse you give it.” He tacks on before she can say anything. He picks up his pace and heads down the hall.

 _“I’m telling you, your left hip is a kinky bad boi.”_ She makes nasty slurping sounding noises and Connor pulls the phone from his ear, hoping they don’t sound as loud as they do right next to the phone.

Once it sounds like she’s done, he puts the phone up to his mouth, “I’m filing for a restraining order. My hip deserves someone better.”

A scoff on her end now. Followed by a coughing fit. _“Ah- shit, sorry. I’m dying right now.”_

Connor makes a guess and goes left once he reaches the end. “Please die quietly then. And, next time, don’t call me.”

_“Absolutely not a chance. I want to make sure that you’ll be the first one they suspect once I kick the bucket.”_

“Rude. After I politely asked you to quietly die?”

_“I already have a note partially written with really badly scrawled letters that almost look like they could spell “Connor”.”_

“Oh, how very thoughtful.”

_“Or, at the very least, Lomio?”_

Connor glances around as his friend continues to come up with progressively worse potential misreadings of his name. He sees posters, science-y looking posters, and his mood perks up.

“Oh hey! I think I just found my classroom-!”

“Wow, Rude! Just gonna cut me-“

“-I’ll talk to you later-“

 _“-This is_ not _how I raised-“_

“Bye Felicia.”

 _“Bye bitch.”_ He clicks off his phone and, this time, makes sure it locks fully before slipping it into his pocket. He made it before the 10-minute mark and he gives himself a moment to collect himself and whip up his best _I’m-a-dumb-stupid-lost-newbie-freshman_ face before entering the room. The door is situated at the back, which gives him a moment to further steel himself from the inevitable shuffling as people crane their necks to see who showed up late. He sees the professor, a dark-skinned woman with thick braids done into an even thicker braid down her back. Her face looks strict and poised, though not closed off. He knows her from somewhere, but he isn’t given a chance to mull over it as she taps the board to regain her classes attention and subtly shifts her head towards a vacant spot against the wall towards the front, simultaneously saving him from further embarrassment and smoothly cutting off any chance for conversations among the students. Connor envies that power and vows to pay attention in this class, one to prevent her from using it on him and two, to pick up on her movements and learn.

For now, he opens up his notebook and takes note of the flimsy projector being used and the colour-coded notes she has scrawled between the projector slide and the board. Oh yeah, this class is gonna be great.

* * *

 The first class was still looking up to be great, but he can’t say the rest of his morning classes are going to follow the same good vibes. After science he had Algebra 1, which was fine and all, but then he realized that his schedule placed him in Geometry right after and that session was taught by the same teacher, in the same classroom, which meant he would be stuck in the same stuffy, cramped broken AC unit room for almost 2 full hours. He feels himself die a little bit at that thought and briefly wonders how he’ll make it to senior year if just the thought of his schedule is chipping away at his soul like this. His next class period was a nice reprieve, though, as it was a simple elective artsy class. All he’d need to do is just splash some paint or draw some lines and he’d be good.

That was it for his morning classes and now he was following the waves of zombie-looking like children as they made their way to the cafeteria. He looked and was looked at in envy by those who either had their lunch- how dare they look so chipper- or weren’t scheduled until the last lunch period- hold on a little while longer… soon their time will come. He stopped by his locker on the way, thankful that his meandering about the school earlier that morning and the steady stream of students make it easier for him to know where his locker would be in conjunction with the cafeteria.

As per his own personal new school survival rules, he packed himself a lunch (and several more for the rest of the week) in order to decrease the chances of accidental food poisoning- in the case that the food is garbage-, to gain knowledge of the school’s more “popular” menu items by observing other peoples’ trays, and, most importantly, to grab himself a spot and secure it while the majority are in lines for food.

It’s worked for him the past few times he’s had to switch schools, and he’s banking on it now that he’s in the, rumoured, less friendly zone of high school. Not that he believes all the horror stories that float around on the internet or in media, but, logically, most of the students here know each other and have already formed groups that might not be so open to new members. It would be impractical for him to mess with anyone’s group as someone still so new. He’ll have to keep an eye out for people in his lunch group and see if he recognises any from his classes and then he can work from there.

Lunch grabbed, he rejoins the throng of students and tries to think about where the rest of his classes will. He’s running mostly on autopilot so when he hears the telltale sound of books and papers crashing to the floor near his feet, he doesn’t even hesitate in picking up the books and papers. In one smooth motion, he has the items smoothed into a relatively neat pile and up into the dark hands of the person who, presumably, had lost their books to the floor. Said person was taller than he, which isn’t so hard to do seeing as he has yet to hit his first growth spurt (Connor isn’t worried. If the photos of his family are anything to go by, he’ll be, at least, 6 feet before he starts college), but this kid is _tall_. Thin and all limbs, as is most tall kids in high school, and damn, he just keeps going and going. Connor has to take a pretty conspicuous step back and crane his head just to make eye contact with the giant.

Connor feels faint. This guy is exactly _his_ type, physically at least. Height besides, the dark skin and thick, soft-looking dreads reaching an inchi beneath his shoulders point to an African heritage, but the light coloured eyes, thinner lips and pretty prominent nose bridge meant he had to have some strong north European genes. Ok, so he was partially Connor’s type. Connor’s potentially dubious -ahem- preferences aside, he had to admit that the darkness of this guy’s skin went well with the lightness of his eyes, almost as if they’re pulling him in. Just dragging him in by his arms and sucking him into the vortex of them.

Someone clears their throat and Connor realises that the dragging feeling is actually happening because he has an iron grip on the books and tall guy was trying to pry them from Connor’s iron grip which is, in turn, pulling him closer to the guy.

Tall boy raises a bushy brow and smiles a bit. From what Connor sees, his teeth are slightly crooked and one tooth has a small chip in it. The rest is covered by pink lips framed by wispy facial hair. Connor forces his eyes away from his mouth and looks between the guy’s eyes, not wanting to risk getting sucked back into their pretty depths but also not wanting to seem like he’s straying again.

“Hey, babe. Thanks for picking these up for me.” Tall boy says. His voice is higher and softer than he’d expect. Hmm, and the magic was wearing off. Connor could admit that, while he definitely wouldn’t want to date anyone without getting to know them first, he’s found that he has certain physical attributes that he finds attractive. He’s sure this boy is perfectly kind and, frankly, he shouldn’t even be worrying about finding a boyfriend at this point in his high school career.

He should be worrying about his unresponsive hands that seem to be gripping the books harder. Really, now is not the time for his body to be reacting to the embarrassment of the situation.

“-do.” Connor hears from far away, behind the sound of blood pumping through his ears.

“What?” He’s not sure if he actually says it, but the message seems to get across because the boy repeats himself, louder and clearer, piercing through the rush pounding through his ears.

“Say I do.” The boy says encouragingly, smile disarming and charming.

“I do?” Connor mutters.

A few kids near them, and some stragglers further away, start whooping and hollering, clapping and whistling, and one voice, louder than them all, booms:

“I pronounce you husband and husband!”

 _What?_ Connor mouths as the voices grow louder and switch into laughter.

“Well, I guess that’s one way to figure out promposals.” The boy looks at him and, while his smile is genuine, his eyes show that he is actually… also genuine.

 ** _What?_** The boy manages to shake his books free from Connor’s still frozen hands. They hang limply in the air for a while.

“I’m Markus b t w. Markus Pfeiffer.” He gains a subtle accent when pronouncing his full name. Connor is intrigued again.

But first.

“Apologies for my language, person I have just met but, _what_ the ever-loving _fuck_?” In his mind, the execution of the sentence should’ve come out in a level tone. His voice cracking decided otherwise.

“Well, that’s just adorable. Here-“ He shoves his books in his locker, shuts it, and then grabs Connor’s lunch box. “As newlyweds, we should sit together at lunch and get to know each other some more. You already know my name, what’s yours?”

“Wha- Connor. It’s Connor, but wait-!“

Markus loops one of his arms through one of Connor’s still awkwardly floating at chest-level.

“Well Connor, welcome to the Pfeiffer family! Sadly, it’s just me for now but _opa und oma_ will be here by the end of the week. You can meet them at the pep rally.” There’s that accent again. But before Connor can say anything or do anything- like grab his lunch and run- he finds himself dragged into the cafeteria and sat down next to this guy.

The guy hasn’t stopped talking.

Connor doesn’t even know if he is needed at this point, as Markus seems content just talking for the both of them.

 _Well… silver linings,_ Connor tells himself. _At least I don’t have to figure out where I’m going to sit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how this vibes with all y'all. I'm going to apologise ahead of time for any awkward tone changes. I am terrible at keeping tones consistent through stories. If it gets too bad, yell at me.


	3. It’s All Contextual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bond between father and son strengthens.
> 
> Connor is still recovering from his status as a newlywed. On the more positive side, he's bonding with Ms Amanda Stern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author struggles to dialogue.  
> Still stuck in the preliminaries, but we're all good. There's no rush.  
> Again, as a reminder, Amanda is a Queen and will not be slandered in this house.

_The boy doesn’t know why his mom can’t come with them. His dad tells him that there are bad men who hurt his mom and his dad says she has to stay in the back of the car. The little boy thinks she looks uncomfortable and his dad nods. He picks up his son and tells him they’ll look for some nice pillows at the store for her, but first daddy has to go shopping. The boy smiles and wraps his arms around his dad’s neck as they enter the first store. His dad sits him in the corner with his book, and the little boy flips through the colourful pictures. When he finishes, he flips to the end and points, like his mom would, and remembers the words she would say for each picture. His dad hears him and smiles softly, joy and pride shining in his eyes. They turn serious once the man behind the counter comes back with his wares and, from there, the conversation is all business._

_The boy grows tired and he looks to see what he can do. He sees something shiny in a big clear box and he shuffles over to it. Inside are pretty pieces of wood attached to pointy metal. One in particular catches the little boy’s eyes and he gasps in awe. He runs to his dad and drags him to the case._

_“Iss Babar!” He grins gleefully, showing off his book and pointing at the object. “My have it? Please, my got it for me?” He’s practically vibrating._

_The dad looks pensive, but he smiles a small smile and crouches down to his boy’s level. “I’m sorry, but that’s too dangerous for you.” He directs his son’s attention to the case. “These are the knives are very pointy, very sharp- sehr spitz, sehr scharf, ja?”_

_The boy nods solemnly. “Spiss und scharf.” He furrows his brows. “Sehr schlet?”_

_A smile. “Sehr, sehr schelct, gut gut!” He and his son go back and forth for a while. From the tone of their conversation it sounds as though the son is trying his best to negotiate, switching freely between his two languages as he builds up his defense and argument. The dad seems to be holding strong, also switching between languages, but remaining patient in both. They seem to come to an agreement and the dad stands up and points to the knife. A few words are exchanged with the storekeeper and then the dad is addressing his son again._

_“When you are older, ein großer Junge- big boy- I will give you the knife, ja?”_

 

* * *

 

 

Connor sits on the bench outside of the school’s parking lot. He doesn’t know what to think of today’s events. Specifically, after lunch. The guy, Markus, just talked and talked and talked. Connor felt he should’ve been annoyed but instead he had, bizarrely, given this dude his schedule and that sat in mild horror as Markus took out his own and started comparing them. He seemed impressed with Connor’s workload, and then gleefully circled all the classes they had together- a grand total of 3, the geometry class in the morning Connor mostly zoned out in, an accelerated history class after lunch, and gym at the end of the day. Then lunch was over and he was ushered to their next class, where Markus guided him to two vacant seats near the back, Connor between the wall and Markus and only one potential person in front of him- may they save him from further interactions throughout the year.

The two classes in-between gave him some much-needed reprieve and he almost forgot about their last shared class and Markus not been waiting _right outside his classroom_ door for him.

_“As a senior- your senior,” wait what, no way. “and your husband,” this he said in a… tone that Connor doesn’t dare to dwell on less his body react again to the memory. “I shall escort you to our final class of the day.”_

And he did.

Thankfully, in the changing room and during the actual class, Markus gives him space and doesn’t interact with him much besides to give him tips on the stretches and- _aggressively_ \- be his partner for the activity.

The second they were dismissed, Connor didn’t even bother staying around to put equipment away like Markus had, and instead slipped back into the locker rooms, grabbed his stuff and booked it to his locker. He managed to leave the school without spotting or being spotted by Markus, but now he was waiting for his mother to pick him up and the crowds of students that had protected him from being sighted were thinning. Buses were pulling out and student vehicles were leaving the lot as well. Connor kept his eye level with the road ahead, willing his mom’s forest green Honda Accord to pull around the corner.

Instead, he gets a call from her. Or, he had a call from her. He hadn’t realized she had called and is greeted to a voicemail notification. It simply says:

“Take the bus. I’m in a meeting.” And then it ends. Connor looks at the time the call was placed.

20 minutes ago.

Connor looks up at the now empty lot and then slowly tracks the path the buses had taken to leave and catches the faint yellow of the final bus down the street.

He sends his mom a vague “Is it a long meeting?”

She doesn’t reply after 5 minutes.

He tries his dad. He gets a generic quick reply saying he’s not available right now.

He tries his aunt and uncle, both with no success, and he curses his luck that he, the one kid who should technically be able to get a ride back home from one of the _four adults_ he lives with, is stranded.

He pulls up his contact list once more, scrolling through to try some friends of his when a car pulls up next to him and the driver’s window pulls down. For two seconds, Connor doesn’t look up, afraid that he’ll look up into light coloured eyes and a crooked, chipped tooth grin.

Instead, a woman’s voice calls out to him and Connor looks up to see his chemistry teacher addressing him.

“Good afternoon, will your parents be here soon?” She glances to the noticeably empty area they’re in before focusing back onto Connor, her eyes intense and Connor, who had been about to lie, finds himself telling her the truth.

She tsks, though Connor has a feeling it’s not because of him. “Well, do you have any other ways of getting home?”

Negative.

She hums now. Her expression becomes softer. “You live on Elm street, correct? I do as well, across the street actually.”

And Connor now puts together where he knows her. She had been there when the block had thrown a small potluck for the new family- his family- and she had brought homemade pineapple upside-down cake. It was delicious. She introduced herself as Amanda Stern. She had recommended this school, despite its distance, as one of the better high school programs and his parents didn’t even give him a chance to look at the other schools, before stocking him up with his school coloured uniforms and gear.

The cake was _really_ delicious. He didn’t mind.

“Would you like me to give you a ride back?”

Before Connor can answer, movement catches his attention from the corner of his eye and he looks over to see another vehicle coming towards him. This one has its windows already down and Connor has to put in a lot of effort to control his face as he sees its Markus leaning out the window, dreads flying free.

Ms. Stern shifts her eyes to see what has Connor’s attention and makes a thoughtful noise. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you waiting for him?”

“Hey Connor! Needa lift?” Markus grins almost blindingly and Connor makes eye contact with Ms Stern and tries to subtly beg for help from her. He barely knows her, and it will most likely be an awkward ride due to the difference in status between them, but he would take awkward silence and possible stunted conversation over Markus calling him husband and acting like they’ve known each other for forever. Not to mention the risk of Markus discovering where he lived.

 _Help me_. Connor mouths to her, just as Markus pulls up on his other side, leaning over to unlock the passenger side door.

Ms Stern looks worried, but schools her features quickly and gestures for Connor to shift a little to the side.

“Good evening, Mister Pheffer.”

“It’s Pfeiffer, actually.” He stresses the ‘p’ and ‘i’.

She acknowledges the correction with a hum. “My apologies. Connor’s home is in the same direction as mine,” _Good. Not a lie, but not detailed enough to give any indicators as to where they lived._ “So, his parents asked me,” _oh?_ “to give him a ride back home.”

Connor could’ve cried. He didn’t even think to use the parent excuse. It was a stretch, but Markus wouldn’t know their relationship.

“Oh? You know his parents well, ja? Didn’t they just move in this past week?” His smile stays on his face, but his eyes harden somewhat.

Ms Stern doesn’t even twitch- something Connor is trying very hard not to do- and responds calmly. “I’m the one who recommended the school to them and when they seemed hesitant on the distance, I offered my assistance to drive Connor home should the need arise.”

Connor’s eyes widen slightly. _She remembers his name? That’s impressive._

Markus nods and tries to make eye contact with Connor. Connor resolutely keeps his eyes pointed towards Ms Stern’s car.

“Well, that’s rather trusting of them. Must’ve made a hell of an impression.”

Connor looks at Markus, confused by his phrasing and he sees the worry in his eyes.

_Why would he be worried?_

Amanda doesn’t seem fazed by the question, arching a brow slightly at him. “You know, for Connor having just moved here, you seem very… close.” She glances at Connor and Connor sees the worry in her eyes.

_What? What is he missing?_

“What can I say? We just… have a _connection_.” The grin is back, but it looks different from usual… more sly and smug.

Ms. Stern makes a sound that clearly conveys a _Really?_.

And then it clicks.

Connor could’ve groaned in frustration. He looks back and forth between the two, who were having some sort of stare down, and he realises he might’ve made the situation much worse than it originally was. He decides he needs to speak up now before this escalates any further.

“Markus,” said guy perks up and his expression grows less tensed. “Ms Stern literally lives in the same neigbourhood as me. We, my family and I, met her through a couple potluck and meet-n-greet events.” Markus still looks slightly concerned, but he seems to accept that Connor is telling the truth.

“And Ms Stern,” she looks at him and Connor realizes he’s going to have to phrase his next words delicately. The last thing he needs is for her to think he wants to go with Markus, but he also can’t make it seem like he’s trying to get rid of him in front of said guy. Despite the boy’s strange… quirks, Connor did just meet Markus and it wouldn’t do well to make him an enemy so soon, and for something so stupid as a car ride home.

_Damn, how did it escalate to this?_

“Ms Stern, this is my classmate and we share a pretty similar schedule, so he’s been acting as my,” _stalker? Guard dog? Leech?_ “mentor and guide of sorts to help me get through the first day. He probably saw me on my own and thought to extend his,” _clinginess? Creepiness? Obsessiveness?_ “assistance fully. But it’s OK.” He addresses them both now, they looked much less tense, thank goodness. “I’m going to go with Ms Stern, now, as per my parents' request. See you later, Markus.”

Connor makes his way to the passenger side Ms Stern’s vehicle when Markus calls out one last time.

“Hey, I wrote my number on your schedule. Text me when you get back, ja?” Connor looks over the roof of the car and catches the serious face Markus has.

 _Shit._ So maybe he didn’t completely defuse the situation…

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Ms Stern adds, she’s looking at Connor too, so she misses the flash of smug satisfaction that passes over Markus’ face.

 _Fuck_. He defused the situation too well.

They were both looking at him expectantly and Connor has no choice but to agree.

_Double. Fucking. Fuck._

As he slides into the seat, and watches Markus pull up ahead, he tries to figure out a way to not have to give his number to Markus. _Maybe throw out the paper?_ Ah, no he can’t. Every other day is a different schedule, and he hasn’t memorised it yet. _Perhaps he can “forget” about it?_ His eye twitches as his mind supplies him with a vision of Markus breaking down his house door with an entire SWAT team demanding to know if his safety has been compromised. _Maybe his handwriting is really bad and he can purposely put in a wrong number and then use that as an excuse?_ No, that might work for a night, but, the next day, Markus would find a way to force it out of him anyway.

He pouts. How, and when, did Markus manage to put his number on his schedule? He only circled some things when they were at lunch. Unless… unless he had gotten a hold of it at another time?

Connor thinks back to his time he had been forced to spend with Markus and tried to pinpoint a time he could’ve slipped his paper out and written his digits.

Connor deadpans as the answer becomes clear to him: Gym. Connor thought Markus was being considerate about his personal space for once, but now that Connor thinks about it, they had to leave their bags in the other room to change into their uniforms, and they did it by groups. That would’ve given Markus ample time to find Connor’s bag, get out his schedule, and write his number on it. And because he’s Markus, and he just does things with confidence, no one probably questioned him as he went over to the group of bags that definitely weren’t his and did all of that.

Connor does sigh out loud. It’s a heavy sigh, one he’s been holding back since he received no replies from his guardians.

“Wow, I haven't heard a sigh like that since grad school. That tough of a first day?”

Connor almost jumps out of his skin. He had forgotten he was in the car with Ms Stern. He looked around and saw they were still within the city, but buildings were starting to get sparser, so they must be pretty far off from the school.

He chuckles softly, trying to inconspicuously slow his heart down by some breathing exercises. “No, not really, just… you know. First days and new schools and, you know. Stuff.” Connor answers lamely.

To her defense, Ms Stern doesn’t immediately give him a judging look, opting to nod in agreement. “Yeah, stuff… gets to the best of us.”  

Connor nods and they go back to silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s noticeable. Ms Stern clicks on the radio and switches through stations. She clicks through Demi Lovato singing about heart attacks, through Lorde preaching her word, and lands on a station where some rapper/singer talks about being up all night and still being in love. It’s nice.

They spend the rest of the 30-minute trip listening to the hip hop station. Connor is pleased about it, making a mental note to add the station to his nightly pre-sleep sessions.

Amanda drops him off in front of his driveway, and Connor waves goodbye to her before heading up and around the back. He could use his keys, but the first day they moved in, he discovered his room has a faulty window that doesn’t lock and a conveniently placed tree right outside of it. Childhood dreams of discovering secret hiding places and worlds via climbing trees could finally be realised and Connor made it his duty to use the tree as his main form of entry whenever he could.

The tree is old, thick, and twisty, providing stable foot holds as he scales it. A large branch curves towards and away from his window, providing him with a pretty nice perch to balance on while he shimmies it open and slips inside.

His room is still pretty barren, the woes of constantly moving around and being unable to obtain trinkets and personal items. It’s also pretty spacious for him, the house realtor stating that the previous family that lived here commissioned it for twins. The twin factor was obvious by the literal line down the middle of the room with the walls and floor on one half shades of yellow and brown, and the walls and floor of the other half bright fluorescent blues and green. It’s a pretty jarring colour combination, and Connor’s father assured him that, once they were sure that they’re here to stay long term, they’ll repaint the walls and redo the carpet. For now, Connor didn’t really mind it. It was strange but, after having bounced from various houses to apartments and vice versa, where his room was always the same shade of not-quite-white plaster walls, he likes the bit of colour and personality this room has. He has a simple queen bed in the yellow/brown half, a mobile desk and chair set- that he moves depending on the mood- currently at the foot of the bed, and a couple dressers and drawers against the walls. There are two doors in his room, the entrance and the door to the closet. In a corner, he has a bean bag and some sentimental stuffed animals, the only thing he’s been allowed to carry from house to house. There are some preinstalled shelves scattered throughout the room and a TV and monitor unplugged and set to be installed by the end of the week.

Connor throws his bag next to his bed and flops down onto it. He lets the softness of it lull him into a pleasant dozed state for a bit. He pulls out his phone and puts on Pandora. Recalling the station he listened to on the way home, he opts to try out some more of that genre and then sets the music to a pretty low setting to continue his dozing. Eventually, after 3 or 4 songs, his stomach growls, forcing him up to provide it with some sustenance.

As he heads down, he remembers to drop off his shoes and jacket in the foyer closet, and then he prays that there’ll be something in the fridge he can nom on.

He finds a half-filled take out container of fried rice, a couple slices of pizza, and some bread. Obviously, he goes for the take-out food. Pizza will be for tomorrow’s breakfast. He fills up a paper cup with tap water while his food heats up in the microwave and makes a small list of things he needs to do before he goes to bed. Since it’s only the first day of classes and there’s no homework besides the parent-signed papers he has to hand in by the end of the week, he’ll probably retire to bed early.

The microwave beeps and he takes his food and cup to the living room, the only place that has a working TV currently. He switches it on to cartoon network and lets the newest Scooby Doo reruns play in the background while he noms. The clock above the TV shows that the adults won’t be back for, at least, another hour, so he has that much time to enjoy his solitude.

He should probably text Markus.

… Or he could call Chloe.

Finishing his meal, he turns off the TV and heads back upstairs to grab his phone. Music is still playing on it, so he pauses it and dials his best friend.

She doesn’t answer. Though she does shoot him a text apologising for not being at his beck and call.

Connor sighs and decided he might as well get this over with. He pulls out his schedule and, sure enough, there, in very readable handwriting, is a number followed by Markus’ name.

He shoots a ‘ _I got home’_ to the number and puts his phone down. He picks it up again to shoot a second ‘ _This is Connor, btw’_ text and then throws his phone on the bed. Then he sighs and repicks up the phone. ‘ _Thanks for helping me today’_ because he was raised to be polite, above all else. He doesn’t get a chance to put the phone down again, as it starts buzzing with incoming text alerts.

_hey! glad youre good! got worried when i didnt hear from yuo_

Oh boy.

_Yeah, I was starved so I ate something first. Sorry._

_no prob no prob! yo sorry if i made you uncomfotable today_

Oh? More texts come in.

_yea like i know i can be much but you like scream new kid save me so like i was like i can help_

_i was new to my freshmen year and i wish i had someone to be my friend_

_sorry if i over stepped_

_oh and dont worry about bein my husband_

_it was a coincdencal joke and you were there…_

_not that i don’t want yu to be the husban_

_i mean you seem cool but i get it its the gay_

_nothing wring if you are_

_I am!_

_scheisse_

_forget all that_

_um…_

_yea_

The texts stop flying in for a moment and it gives Connor a chance to process all the messages.

He takes a moment to _re_ -rethink his day and his interactions with Markus. It occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, the only reason he found Markus so creepy is because he, himself, is not so much a social person. Trying to imagine what he might look like to an outsider, especially one as outgoing as Markus seems to be, Connor can admit to himself that he, probably, looked lost and shy. His uniform isn’t new, despite he himself being new, and his hair is only tamed by copious amounts of hair gel. He looks in his phones reflection and can clearly see the bagginess of his eyes and the tired lines in his forehead (moving on such a short notice is stressful). He’s white as white can be, but to people who don’t know him yet, he could see them mistaking it for an unhealthy pallour. Yeah, he looks exactly like a typical fresh meat and he only thanks his unfortunate habit of falling asleep with contacts that made him forgo wearing his thick glasses this morning.

And, well… Markus did kind of help him. Normally, first days were very stressful for him, what with learning the school layout, not knowing anyone, and trying not to step on any toes. But Markus had sort of saved him from all of that. Especially, the stepping on toes. Had this gone the way previous schools went, Connor would be sitting on his bed, moping while he tries to ice his swollen face. Or, at the very least, praying a hole would swallow him up so he wouldn’t have to worry about attending school the next day. Yet, Markus had taken their awkward interaction and turned it into less of a spectacle.

Actually, now that Connor is really thinking, Markus definitely saved his ass. By including him in on the joke, now others would think that he at least has one friend in Markus and would be less likely to mess with him. And, well… he has someone to talk to besides Chloe, someone who would actually be able to understand the woes of actually attending school.

Damnit. Now he feels kind of bad. He chews his bottom lip.

 _Don’t worry about it, I’m very thankful for your help! I guess I am a little shy so I_ _was just very overwhelmed._

He sends it and chews hard on his lip. He might regret this but… it could prove to be useful later on…

_Are you filing for a divorce?_

And the finishing blow.

_:'(_

Connor lets out a breath. Only to suck it back in just as quickly and choke slightly as he receives the reply.

 _never_ babe _:(_ i _would never._

_we havent even been on our honemyon_

_*honeymoon_

: _D?_

_And where would we go? What would we do?_

Connor almost puts a winky face at the end but then decides that he isn’t going to stoop that low.

_i have a few ideas… meet me in front of school tomorow_

_sorry babe i have to go ttyl_

Connor responds with a _goodbye_  and _ttyl_  and then flops backward onto his bed. His face is on fire and he doesn’t quite know how to feel at the moment. Now would be a really good time for some advice from Chloe, but she doesn’t answer.

The door downstairs clicks open, and Connor sighs. Guess he’ll have to figure it out tomorrow. He heads downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Amanda is a professor! She is still one! However, she is also a certified high school teacher in this and the reason will become clearer later on.  
> ((Don't worry, it's nothing dramatic))
> 
> Also, if anyone feels uncomfortable with how Markus is being portrayed, they should. Overly nice people are some of the scariest people in the perspective of an introvert. 
> 
> Please let me know how the dialogues are working or if anything in my writing is confusing. Still trying to get used to writing.
> 
> Leave a review! Drop a kudos! Or don't. Thanks anyway for getting to this point.


	4. It Takes Some Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy just wants his mom to be happy again and he has an idea on how he can go about that.
> 
> Connor just wants his aunt and uncle to make sense but, unfortunately, they never have and they most likely never will.
> 
> Chloe just wants to be free or maybe she's being melodramatic and should look on the brighter side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo allo, nothing big happens this chapter except some more heavy allusions. I have updated the tags though with some new information, but nothing triggering. Read the notes at the bottom for more clarification.
> 
> Forgive my dialogues. I think I'm getting into it a bit more, but oof, they are probably annoying to read either way.

_The little boy is a bigger boy now. He can reach his dad’s hips without having to stretch on his tiptoes and he uses this to his advantage to sneak surprise hug attacks on him. His dad always gets happy when he hugs him. Lately, his dad has been sad because Momma’s starting to smell. He tries to hug his mom but his dad says no, not now. He tells his boy she needs to be by herself because she feels bad about her smell. The little-bit-bigger boy thinks it doesn’t matter, because he loves his mom, even though she doesn’t talk or sing to him anymore. Even if she smells really bad, he will always love her. He wants to hug her to prove it, but he doesn’t want his mommy to be sad._

_The boy sits under a small bridge with his dad. It’s really hot so dad makes the car really cold because momma doesn’t like being hot. But he doesn’t like the cold so they “kom-pomiss”* and the boy and his dad got to eat lunch outside on the car. But it was too hot, so now they’re under a bridge. He worries that his momma might be lonely. His dad chuckles and assures him ‘she’s fine, look she’s looking through the window at us’. This calms his son down and they return to the previous silent but content atmosphere._

_The dad can see the moment when his son wants to say something, urgently, and he braces for what will probably be another drawn-out discussion on whatever caught the boy’s fancy._

_He’s pleasantly surprised when, instead, the boy climbs into his lap and tells him he loves him. It’s the voice his boy has been fine-tuning for things to swing his way, but his son is too young for any of his wishes to be undoable. So he hugs his son close whispers in his native tongue his love and waits for him to, inevitably, ask for whatever is on his mind. He doesn’t have to wait long._

_“_ Can we get the perfume for mama _?” The boy asks, his German soft but clear. His dad smiles._

 _“_ You think we should _?”_

 _His son nods rapidly. “_ Yes, yes! Then I can hug her _!” His brows furrow slightly, adorably. “_ And, you can hug her also _!” he adds as an afterthought._

_His dad hums in thought, stroking his moustache evenly. The boy gets distracted by the motion briefly before it is cut off and his dad bounces him on his knees in joy._

_“_ What a great idea! You are so kind and compassionate* to me! We will buy the perfume for your mother, yes? _”_

 _His son smiles. “_ I feel with you*, yes _!”_

 _His dad stands and corrects his son while they walk back to the car. “_ Not ‘with feeling’. ‘Compassionate, one word. It means you are very kind and helpful towards others.”

_They get back to the car and open the doors. A whoosh of cold air comes out and with it a slightly nauseous smell. His dad puts him on the roof of the car and carefully maneuvres his wife so she’s laying down in the backseat instead of propped up against the window. While he secures her, he speaks up so that his son can hear him as a way to keep him occupied and distracted._

“What kind of perfume should we buy your momma? Flowery? Fruity?”

 _He hears humming as his son contemplates. “_ She wants… mama-y _.”_

 _“_ Mama-y? And what’s that smell like? _” He straightens up and gently lifts his son off the roof. While the boy climbs into the booster seat on the passenger side, he explains, rather exasperatedly._

 _“_ Like, mama smells! Like an adult! But, a mama adult! _” His dad buckles him in and walks around the car to get into the driver’s seat._

 _“_ OK, OK… We’ll look for something… Mama-y!”

_The boy whoops and turns around as best as he can to tell his momma about his present he’s going to get for her and his dad smiles warmly, driving back onto the road. They’re headed south, surely they’ll find a cosmetic store or something for his son to gift his momma._

* * *

 

The last thing Connor needed was the arrival of his aunt and uncle after that conversation with Markus. They were great, truly, but they also had some of the strangest most uncomfortable quirks. As evidence, here’s sample one:

“Hmm… I don’t think this is your colour. What do you think George?” His aunt holds up a pastel green scarf and practically strangles Connor with it to wrap it around his head and secure it around his neck.

He’s decked in miscellaneous clothing items, all of them various shades of green and while a few of the items he has on seem like perfectly normal items, such as the striped socks that go to just under his kneecap and the wife beater under all the layers of clothing, everything else just seems impractical.

_Why are the gloves fingerless for only the ring finger and show his palms? Why is the shirt so full of random holes in the front and completely missing a back? Why put frills and lace over the crotch area of the shorts?_

Even the sweater, which had looked normal, if abnormally long, at first, proved to be the most challenging of all as once it was slipped on, it was then twisted and wrapped around him in such a way, he questions why even have the other layers of clothing since the item, essentially, is just acting as a very long and awkward-looking toga.

_But, most importantly, why all the green?_

“I think it isn’t long enough to be a scarf… why not make it a bow on his head, eh Sharles?” He’s currently hovering around Connor’s midriff attempting to bunch the fabric of the sweater back up over his waist so it doesn’t cover the shorts.

Charlotte, aka Sharles, is his mom’s sister and she does the _head-tilt/ah!_ that she does that apparently runs in the family. She went to college for costume design and got an internship at some indie studio. There, she met George, a beefy man with a keg for a belly and no hair. He was building up his portfolio for photography and had the added benefit of getting paid which helped him, and later them, with rent. They were there for 3 years, swapping ideas on the side. Apparently, some huge scandal or something broke out within the company and George and Charlotte got out before it got to them and decided to go independent. Connor doesn’t know who they suckered into being their models before him, but they must have had somebody becaus, by the time he came around, they already had their “vision(s)” cemented.

That vision is currently green and impractical right now. Connor gets sucked into it because he’s family and they don’t have to pay him. Connor really wishes he had more say in this.

Instead, once the bow is fixed, and his uncle stops pawing at his sides and hips to keep the sweater up, they take turns manipulating him this way and that for photos.

 _Well, at least if school doesn’t work out I could make a career out of being a living mannequin doll._ This thought has been circling his mind more and more lately. He’s not sure how he feels about it becoming more and more of a reality.

Fortunately, he’s able to blank for a moment and when he blinks himself back into focus, they’ve undressed him and are in the process of putting equipment and outfits away.

Connor sighs and turns to take his leave when before he goes, sample number two happens.

“Hey, sweetheart, have you taken a shower yet?” Aunt Charlotte asks. She’s holding his clothes away from him and looking stern. Connor sighs.

“No, aunty.”

She huffs. His clothes are tossed into a corner and a finger sharply points up the stairs. “What were you waiting for, an invitation? Scoot!”

George looks at his watch and hums. “Actually, maybe wait a few minutes?” Charlotte looks over and George shows her his watch. She hums as well.

Connor stands there for a moment, in just boxer briefs, waiting for them to clarify.

They stare at him, nod, and then go back to fixing up things. His aunt takes his clothes and throws them in the laundry room.

“Umm… can I go shower now?”

“Nope.” His aunt says, without a breath of hesitation.

Connor sighs. They’ve played this dance before. Maybe it came with being relatively fresh from university. Maybe it was due to their artistic “vision(s)”. Perhaps they had undiagnosed OCD. Either way, they had weird rituals that everyone in the household had to abide by, and one of them was shower timetables. Connor always had to go first, at the same time, for some oddly specific reason and he’s been scolded on more than one occasion for questioning it.

“… Can I get some clothes, please?”

“Aww… Are you embarrassed? You shouldn’t be! You’re growing up to be a fine young man.” She looks him up and down and then nods, as if she’s agreeing with her own statement.

“It’s… pretty cold, actually.” Connor mumbles.

George laughs heartily and makes a show of rubbing Connor’s chest. “Man up! A little chill won’t kill you. Might put some hair on your chest!”

Connor sighs. _That doesn’t even make any sense_. He goes upstairs to put on a blanket rather than waste any more time down here lest they make him do something else like sit upside on the couch near the third most window or something.

Upstairs, he wraps himself into a Connor-burrito and tries one last time to start a conversation with Chloe. He’s slightly worried as she’s never spent this long without messaging him or, at the very least, telling him when she’ll be available again. He just hopes everything is alright on her end.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, Chloe wonders would things have been different, if she’d tried harder to save her mom from herself. If she carries on thinking on it, some things are clear in what would be her life now. Her father would still be around and her mom getting the help she needs. Her younger sister would be cheering with her as a junior varsity cheerleader. She’d probably look into colleges, worry about prom, and get her license. Instead, she lies there, dazed gaze on the panelled, white ceiling. She should be feeling grateful. The GoFundMe page she created finally reached the amount she needed to transfer her back to Detroit. Her excitement had been palpable when she reached her goal and she already made plans with a former friend who still lived there who agreed to house her. There was only courtesy last-minute tests to run and then she was free.

She looks over to the standby her bed at her phone. Connor had been texting and calling her. She’s been ignoring him, for lack of better terms. She didn’t want to ruin the surprise for her online friend. He’s told her that his parents seem to be settling down outside Detroit and she figured that, maybe, this was the sign she needed to be back in Detroit as well as meet him in person. He knows she’s originally from there, and they had a good long chat into the wee hours of the morning about where he could go and what he could do while there. The end goal, however, was for him to experience all these things _with her_ and she didn’t want to jinx it by alerting him to the transfer and then _his parents_ get transferred.

For now, she clears the notifications on her phone and sets about looking for flight dates. She doesn’t have much by way of personal items- living in a hospital ward makes it kind of hard to collect personal items. Oh well, she’ll be free of it soon, or at the very least, able to go out more. She’ll have to catch up with Connor.

Her nurse comes into the room. Her name tag stickered so much that it defeated the purpose of being a nametag. She has a ladybug tattoo on the inside of her ankle and when she rounds the doorway, her clipboard comes into view, ladybug stickers all over it as well.

“Guess what, guess what!” She also tends to repeat words when she’s excited. Her dark corkscrew curls bounce against her forehead as she, herself, bounces. Chloe loves her. She’s her favourite.

“What, what!” She sits up fully and returns the smile, with an even bigger one.

She shows Chloe her clipboard and points to the sheet of paper that’s clipped to it. It has her name on it, her patient number and a bunch of general information on her at the top. Below it, though, is a chart that has a bunch of medical terms on the leftmost side. In the rightmost side, there is a column with a bunch of numbers, all except two are grey, with the other two being red. She looks back to the left side to match the numbers and they’re listed as iron and vitamin D. Chloe smiles more.

“I’m cleared?” They wouldn’t keep her for low-ish iron and vitamin D levels, would they?

Stickers smile reassuringly at her. “Yep, yep! You are slightly anaemic and low on your vitamin D, but that can be fixed easily by an iron-rich diet and lots of sun once you leave.” She puts the clipboard under her arm. “Your guardians have already been notified and will be down shortly to sign you out. They’ll also bring you your clothes so just relax for a little while longer and you’ll be free before you know it!”

She smiles softly, fondly even, before doing a small shuffle towards her. Chloe sits up as best as she can and holds her arms out wide and Stickers rushes forward and gives her one of the best hugs she’s had in a while.

“I’m going to miss you, sweetie.” Her voice sounds wobbly. “I mean, I’m so happy, really happy- so, so, very happy that you’ll get to head back home! But I will miss our conversations and bickering.” She steps back after one final squeeze and though her eyes shine, she doesn’t let a tear fall.

Meanwhile, Chloe finds her own eyes prickling. When she had been admitted to the hospital, she had thought she’d be forced to deal with stoic doctors and uncaring nurses. At first, that’s exactly what had happened. She could practically see the doctors and nurses’ focus wane once they realised she was just a simple girl who survived a fire and half a roof falling on her. Nothing world-altering. Her continued stay would fill their pockets with money for a while and that’s where their feigned interest dissipated.

Then Stickers had shown up, fresh from her post-graduate internship in Hawaii, and took over as her rehabilitating nurse. Her bubbly nature reminded her of her mother before she… well. Perhaps it was due to the rather recent tragedy but, at the time, Stickers had seemed to be everything she loved and missed about her family. Her mom’s bubbly nature, her dad’s penchant for getting easily excitable, and her sister’s love for hour-long conversations about nothing.

Chloe read somewhere that the quickest way to recovery is through a stable support system, and Stickers had been that to her for over a year. Without her, Chloe might have given up and just allowed her body to fail on her.

And, now, seeing her trying to be strong in front of her, Chloe found her own vision blurring. This nurse had become her confidante, hell- she was practically family in her eyes.

Chloe collects herself and reaches for her phone.

She takes a deep breath and, in her deepest, most suave voice says, “Ay yo ma, can I have yo number?”

That causes Stickers to let out an ugly laugh and a mumbled _fuck you_.

“Ay, lemme ge’dem digits.”

“Blocked.” Stickers reachs for the phone anyway and takes a selfie before putting in her number. She pulls out her own phone- surprise, surprise, it’s also covered in stickers- and Chloe covers her face.

“No, you can’t take a picture of me like this! People are going to think I died or something!”

Stickers’ pager goes off and she sighs. “Fine, text me a good one then and I’ll save your number then.” She gets one last squeeze in and then rushes out.

Chloe smiles to herself. Soon her foster parents will be here and then she’ll be free to move. She goes back to her phone and pulls up the flight page again, settling on a date and time by the time Matthew and his wife, Pauline, shows up. They dip their heads into the room and make a low _whoop whoop_ sound. Chloe looks up and answers with a _whoop_ of her own.

They step in, brandishing a plastic bag filled with clothes and Chloe moans in relief.

“Oh, thank goodness. I thought I’d never get to feel real clothes again.” She makes grabby motions with her hands and shoves her face into the bag.

“You need any help with anything?” Pauline asks. She shuffles out of the way of her husband as he maneuvers a wheelchair to the side of the hospital bed.

“Is this a good spot, blueberry?” He asks, gesturing to the wheelchair.

Chloe smiles at the nickname and makes shooing motions to the both of them. “I’m good and that’s good. Now scoot, scoot! I’ve been waiting for this moment for ever.”

Pauline chuckles and raises her arms in an appeasing matter, backing up towards the entrance. “Sheesh. We just got here, and she is already bossing us around.”

Matthew pulls the curtains around her and answers his wife with a little _yeah_. “If you need us, we’ll be out in the hallway. Just give us a scream and we’ll shout right back!”

With them gone, Chloe shuffles the blanket off her and stares at the stumps. It’s been a year and yet she still finds it hard to swallow. She doesn’t allow herself to dwell on it for too long however, and she shucks her hospital gown off and eagerly pulls out the loot. She had been very specific on the style and her foster parents hadn’t disappointed. Inside was a soft off-shoulder sweater with a cartoon owl decal on it and a long, dark skirt. There was also a simple neutral-coloured cami and Chloe rolled her eyes at Pauline’s addition to what she asked for. The final item she pulls out are a simple pair of converse sneakers, dark blue and brand new.

She smiles and shuffles some more, slipping the skirt over her head, adjusting the band around her waist, before pulling the cami and sweater on. Checking to make sure everything was on as it should be, she pulled the waistband of the skirt back up, tucking her sweater into it and smoothing it all down. She then shuffled to the edge of the bed and eased her self into the wheelchair. She can’t help but smile a bit as she recalls how she used to be out of breath when performing arm exercises and now she’s lifting her dead weight like it’s nothing. That’s character development.

She fixes her skirt once more and grabs the shoes of the bed. In the chair against the wall, her temporary prosthetics lay there. She rolls herself over to them and slips the shoes onto them. Making sure they’re tied properly and on the right legs, she carefully attaches the prosthetics. Her left leg is longer than her right, so she bends that leg at the knee to test the weight and security of the prosthetic. For her right leg, which cuts off midthigh, she tries to tug it off gently, carefully adding more tension in her pull until she’s satisfied it won’t go tumbling off over the slightest bump.

She throws her bunched-up skirt over her legs and sighs in satisfaction. She had been worried she’d have to rely on people to help her dress still but, as long as she chooses relatively loose and easy clothing, like she had with this ensemble, she should be fine. She rolls her way to the door, phone and plastic bag in her lap, and she tells herself she can work her way up to more complicated clothing as a challenge. Stickers always told her that the best way to ensure success was to set up little goals and challenges along the way.

“All done!” If she could do it without breaking something or someone, she’d twirl around in her wheelchair. Instead, she settles for spreading her arms wide and wiggling her fingers.

For their part, Matthew and Pauline do small golf claps and look around as if addressing other people and nod with small little _good jobs_ and _impressive_ muttered.

Damn, Chloe is going to miss them too. They only got to talk with her a few times and those times were mostly spent discussing treatments and options for said treatments. As a minor, she had needed someone to give the ok on certain treatments and surgeries. She had grandparents, but they lived down south and weren’t medically cleared for travel far from their state. They called up some friends of theirs, here in New York, and those friends were Matthew and Pauline, college friends of her mom. Chloe’s mom considered them the best people in the world and she always talked about flying out to meet them and reconnect. It saddens Chloe that this is how she had to meet them, but she’s grateful for them either way. It’s because of her gratefulness that she allows them to take turns pushing her. Sure, she complains some, but she quiets down pretty quickly and let them have their moment.

They went down the elevator and passed through the lobby, stopping only to sign some outgoing patient papers and for Chloe to say goodbye to a couple other kid patients she got to know and appreciate. Once they’re outside, Chloe directs Matthew and Pauline to a pretty, metal, abstract sculpture that she could see from her window.

She hands them her phone and she doesn’t even need to ask them what she would like. Pauline positions her so that it looks as though the metal is coming from her and steps out of the frame. Matthew takes a couple pictures of her, some close up the rest including as much of the sculpture as he can. He and Pauline switch to get pictures of each other with her and they ask a passerby to get one of them all.

Chloe looks through them, later while she’s in the car, and picks the best of them. The sculpture looks like wings, rusted and bent out of place, but strong and sturdy. Matthew had clicked the camera just as the wind had picked up and scattered autumn leaves around her. She looked pale and pasty but, in that moment, she had lit up and her cheeks had some colour to them. There’s a genuine smile on her face and she realises that, while she still wishes things had gone differently, she is alive and well and glad that she can say that.

She sends the picture to Stickers, as well as changes her name to Stickers followed by the family emoji and a ladybug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In case you are confused or haven't picked up on it yet, the boy and his dad speak German to each other. The boy is bilingual, as is the dad, but they feel more comfortable conversing in the dad's mother tongue. Due to this, I've tried to show the development of the child through their language, so that "kom-pomiss" is Kompromiss and not me failing at capturing a little kid saying compromise. It means the compromise, but that's not how it's pronounced in German. The next "mistake" is the boy saying he "feels to go with" his dad. The word compassion uses the German words for with and feeling and conjugates it slightly. The boy hasn't heard that word yet and used the pieces to gather a similar meaning, but misunderstood what the message was about. So his father corrects him. Mitfühlend is compassionate in German, and the boy understood it as mit gefühl, with feeling. Similar meaning, but different connotations, yeah? From here on out, when there is a conversation between the two, assume it's in German. :)
> 
> As for Chloe, yeah she has no legs. Since this is set during our time, but also a futuristic timeline with higher technological advancements (at least, that's how I see the game's timeline as it's about an hour until 2019 as I write this and I ain't hear nuffin bout no android-making company) she will get more efficient legs, that she will be able to switch out on occasions where she would like to be more active. Until then, and for the in-between times, she's gonna be strolling around in her wheelchair like a boss. More about her story will be revealed later.
> 
> As per usu', let me know if there is anything glaringly confusing or ungrammatical if y'all want.


	5. Open Your Eyes and Trust What They See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy and his dad get a moment to bond before bed.
> 
> Chloe has had to shift her worldview and takes a different approach to her life. It works out for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, sorry this took so long. All sorts of things just happened all at once and ended up writing this chapter sporadically across different places. So when I finally was able to sit down and tackle it a few hours ago, I had to look through so many places just to find the correct order of the plot. Literally had the whole chapter done, but it was found in bits and pieces across my phone, tablet, laptop, and several places where one can write things (ie, word, google docs, email drafts, notepads, etc). School is beginning to wind down, but now the job search and applying for grad school has picked up so I don't know when I'll next have free time. Just know that I am still working on this, just in small portions, sporadically.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy the chapter! Nothing to warn about here, but the plot is just around the corner.

_“Vati! Can you read to me again?” The little boy scrambles into his father’s lap, all signs of earlier tiredness gone despite the long car ride and the lateness of the hour._

_His dad groans, having had to spend so long finding a suitable parking spot to give his wife a “good night’s sleep” as well as fenagle a cheap room for the next few days from the money-grabbing front desk secretary. The man had been hoping that, with all that had occurred in the past several hours, his little boy would conk out the moment his head hit the bed. Clearly not._

_“Ok. Ok. What do you want me to read to you?” His dad’s voice is deep and gruff with tiredness, but that doesn’t deter his son. Really, the question itself was more a formality than it was an actual question, as his son only had, currently, one book that he was obsessed with and the answering plop of it on his chest had the father blinking unamused, not even surprised anymore. Sighing to himself, he fixes his position to better hold his son and position the book so they both could read it._

_The book is worn down and much of its once colourful art is faded after years of use and travel. Despite being tired, the man finds he is pleased that his son finds the story as fascinating and captivating as he did when he was his age. Speaking of ages…_

_“Wait a moment, my child.” The man says, shuffling his kid off of him, ignoring the little whines of protest and the ever-present pout that was presented to him. The man pulls up the newspaper he grabbed before situating them into their room and took note of the date. His watch had long since broken, so he couldn’t clarify, but if the paper was yesterday’s paper, then that would mean…_

_“Ach, it’s your birthday next week!” The father throws the paper down in favour of lifting his boy up above his head and blowing raspberries into the exposed belly. His boy giggled and squirmed and tried to retaliate. His dad pretended that the clumsy fingers under his beard were ticklish and dramatically dropped them onto the bed. Encouraged, his son scrambled onto him and jabbed his little fingers where he could, as his dad kept up the show of being overwhelmed._

_Eventually, the “tickle” war stopped and, out of breath, the two laid next to each other, the elder grinning from ear to ear, and the younger trying to keep his eyes open as yawn after yawn forced them shut._

_Shifting to face his son, the man asks. “What should we do for your birthday? You’re going to be six soon! We can go to the restaurant and eat, maybe watch a movie… sounds good, ja?”_

_The boy hums, quietly and definitely more tired now, before answering slowly. “I want watch a movie with mommy and you.” The boy smiles expectantly at his dad and the man furrows his brow slightly._

_“Hm. I guess we could rent a movie and then eat in, ja?” The man worries his lip and strokes his beard. “It has been a long time since we’ve done something together, us three, without being in a car.” He nods once to himself and then pats his boy on his belly, giving it a soft, soothing rub. “Ok, so this weekend we will find a movie you want to watch and have a dinner/movie date, the three of us here, ja? Ok?”_

_His son nods and places his smaller hand on his dad’s and uses his free hand to grab at his book._

_The father chuckles. “Ja ja, I’m sorry, I have not forgotten.” Once again there’s a shuffling as father and son get comfortable together under the blanket. The man clears his throat once, book propped by his hand, son snuggled securely against his side, and begins to read, his thick Northern accent, softly murmuring to his son._

_“Im großen Wald wird ein kleiner Elefant geboren. Sein Name ist Babar. Seine Mutter liebt ihn sehr. Zum Einschlafen schaukelt sie ihn mit ihrem Rüssel singend in den Schlaf…”_

* * *

 

Chloe sat in front of the school entrance. Or, rather, away from the school entrance, but facing it, trembling slightly with excitement and anxiety as she awaited her friend to walk through the doors. It had been a few weeks since she’d flown in, less than a few days since she was outfitted for her active prosthetics, and all Connor knew was that she was busy with therapy. He didn’t know she was outside of his school. He didn’t even know that she was back in Detroit. She had done her best to keep all updates vague enough about the location as she knew her friend would investigate it himself, thus ruining any surprises she had for him.

Her watch told her she had 20 minutes until the final bell rang and if Connor’s penchant for detailing his daily routine to the minute hadn’t dulled with the addition of a boyfriend- and Chloe had _words_ to say to Connor on _that-_ then she should be seeing him soon. Chloe had a wrong feeling that settled inher stomache as she recalled her friend’s recount of how he acquired said boyfriend and Chloe couldn’t wait to get her mobile legs so she could roundhouse kick the “boyfriend”.

_He’s not even your type!_ She very clearly remembers telling him and he even agreed.

And then Connor had the audacity to change the subject. As if she would so easily let it go.

Bored, and now a little miffed, Chloe rolled herself towards the side of the school, where there was a large clearing surrounded by stadium seats. She might as well look at the athletic amenities since, whether anyone approves or not, she’s going to be spending most of her time there. Rolling up outside of the gate, she couldn’t help but remember a time when she and her sister would race each other around the track during a meet or practice tumbling before a game. Her sister was always faster than her, but Chloe had better stamina and they played their roles rather well.

Shaking herself of that memory, before it became tainted with the melancholy of nostalgia and grief, Chloe found the gate opened and wheeled her way to the track. The fields weren’t much to look at, and it was obvious to her what the main event was for this school, if the pristine, almost professional looking baseball diamond. It had its own stands, separate from the ones erected around the football/track field.

There wasn’t much she could do now that she was here and as much as she would love to test her upper body strength and endurance by timing a lap around the track, she didn’t have time for such and no one around to monitor/time her. She puffed out some air and decided she would do some push-ups or something using the bleachers. You don’t need legs for that and her chair was at the perfect height to give her some good leverage and really feel the burn. Maybe she could even plank a bit.

She was pumping her way through her 2nd rep of 10- man, is she ever out of shape, her arms and core were screaming at her- when the bell signifying the end of the school day rang out, startling her. She almost fell completely off her chair if not for a pair of hands grabbing her and yanking her up. Chloe spluttered, both in the fear of falling through the air and the sudden, strong, arms lifting her up and placing her back in her seat.

“Oof, you almost died. That would’ve sucked.” A rather deep voice, slightly accented, though obviously feminine, gasped out, sounding short of breath despite the rather casual statement.

Chloe took a breath her self and wheeled around to face her helper. “Thank you for that. It would’ve sucked, living this long only to be taken out by the sound of a bell and some bleacher seats.” The girl chuckled at that and offered Chloe one of her prosthetic legs. She didn’t seem phased by it, offering it to Chloe as if it were simply a dropped sock. Chloe appreciated that.

Carefully replacing the limbs, Chloe not-so-covertly checked out her new companion. She was toned, long-limbed, and heavy bottomed, Chloe could’ve died from envy. She had long dreaded hair, dyed some shades of green and pink at the tips, dark slanted eyes, and a wide mouth. And her skin must be naturally brown because it was so soft and smooth looking that it couldn’t be just a summer tan. Chloe looked at her own skin, rough from years of playing out in the sun and getting burned. She cried some more in silent envy.

The girl raised a brow and smirked at her. Chloe got the feeling that, maybe, she had been staring much more obviously than she had previously thought. She didn’t look away though and made a show of staring her down more obviously.

The mystery girl winked, and Chloe returned it two-fold.

“I like your boldness.” The girl declared, still unfazed and sounding bored, but smirking nonetheless.

“Thank you, it’s helped me get this far.” Legs firmly in place, Chloe did some arm stretches, thankful of the dark tee she wore that showed off her toned muscles. Maybe she wouldn’t get so upset with Connor and his immediate boyfriend. She could kind of relate now. Maybe it’s the dreadlocks?

“So… you come around here often?”

The laugh that exploded from the girl’s mouth would play in Chloe’s dreams for nights to come. It was loud, ugly, but undeniably contagious. “Wow, you really went for it, huh?”

Chloe shrugs. “Like I said, my boldness helped me get this far.”

She smiles and does some stretches of her own and, really, Chloe would like to thank the deities for bestowing that image upon her. “Well, I hate to cut the fun so soon but, unfortunately, I’m very straight and no matter how pretty you are, I will always prefer the D.”

Chloe sighed in acknowledgement. “Damn. Well, I don’t blame you. A good dick is a good dick. Can’t fault you for that.”

“Put that on a motivational poster.” Her eyes twinkle and there is a hint of a smirk, as she switches into a jog-in-place.

A bell rings, and Chloe’s next words get abruptly cut short as she recalls the whole reason for her showing up after school today.

“Ah, crap! I gotta go!” She almost wheels away when the mystery athlete talks again.

"Shame, you be going to school here?" She’s gone into lunges now and it takes Chloe a second to focus on the question.

She nods slowly and tries to sound casual like. "Yeah, soon. I officially start next week."

"Grade?"

"Junior."

The girl hums. "Sweet, that's my grade as well. Maybe we will have some classes together." She hums to herself, and Chloe almost takes this as a cue to leave, when she steps closer into her space. “Hey, do you need help stretching your arms some more? I mean, I know you got to go, but that was definitely not the correct length of stretches and we wouldn’t want your arms to snap and become limp noodles.” She offered her hands.

Well, _obviously_ , Chloe was going to take her up on the offer. “Eh, it can wait a few minutes. You’re right, actually, I can already feel my muscles starting to tense up and spazz.”

They spend a moment helping each other stretch. Chloe allows the girl athlete to use her chair for some leg stretches, and she returns Chloe’s kindness by offering her one of her extra water bottles, because Chloe is dumb and, while it is somewhat chilly outside, she did manage to work up a sweat and was desperately thirsty.

While Chloe was chugging at the bottled water, her companion gasps suddenly and snaps her fingers. "Oh, that's what I was forgetting! My name!” Chloe, once again, finds herself startled and chokes on some water. The athlete pats her back in sympathy and looks a little sheepish. “I’m Fengmian Chen, at your service," she says, straightening back up and offering a hand. "Or Luna Garcia. Whichever is easier."

Chloe blinks and returns the shake. "Um... those were two completely different names?"

She shrugs it off. "They're both my name. Fengmian Chen is my official name, get it from baba, but Luna Garcia is also on the paper and pays homage to mi mama. The perks of being multiracial, I guess. Six names!" She smiles, clearly proud.

"Well... I guess that’s one way to nam- wait, _six_ names? That was only four though?”

The athlete waves nonchalantly. “Yep, but you gotta unlock those at level 3 friendship.”

“Then I guess that’s something to look forward to?” Chloe gives a smaller grin, trying to convey a little self-doubt if only to convince this goddess to pity her so they could hang out some more. “Um… How did you say the first one? Fengmian?" Chloe thought she got a pretty good handle on it. Fengmian's snort told her otherwise.

"Oof, no. Wrong tones. First and second tones. F _ēng_ mi _án_." 

Chloe blanched. "I hope you realise those mean nothing to me." but she tried again anyway, trying to sound like her. "I'm not calling you something like dipshit-turd-licker am I?"

The sound that burst out of her was akin to a cat startling itself awake off of a high ledge. "What? No, not even! Just a minor error, you're getting close! You have the second part down, but you keep doing the first part wrong."

Chloe grunts in determination. "Well, guess I'll just have to meet up with you again some other time to make sure I get it correct." 

Fengmian smiles at that and waves her away. "Yeah, yeah you're smoov, I get it. I practically live on the track so you'll probably see me down here. Don't not say hi to me!" and with that, the two girls went their separate ways.

Chloe was practically vibrating with joy. No, she didn't get a girlfriend, but she might've just found an in into the athletics and, even better, a friend. Now if only she could do something about her own dumb, but lonely friend.

It was only once she rolled back to the gates that she realised she never asked for any sort of way to contact her new friend _. So much for being “smoov”_ Chloe berates herself. 

Speaking of “smoov”, Chloe looks up and sees Connor walking pretty close to a tall mixed kid, probably the Markus he casually texts her about. Chloe gets her protective glare ready as she stealthily navigates around other students and towards her unsuspecting prey.

When Chloe rolls up to Connor, the boy in front of him- Markus- makes eye contact with her and Chloe finds herself frozen under his gaze for a moment. He's handsome, she'll give Connor that, but, for once, it isn't someone's looks that have her halting in her movements and cause her pulse to pick up. Instead, it's the intensity of his stare. His bottle blue eyes pierce through her and hold her down under their scrutiny. She doesn't feel so much dissected, as she feels laid bare. Like, just by a single skim of her, she feels as though any secrets she kept were known by him, and he didn't even have to do some digging. She felt uncomfortable and the longer they held each other's gazes, the more she felt a small voice telling her to turn around and run. She tenses her arms as if to do so.

Then he blinks and his eyes lose their intensity so quickly, Chloe wonders if she imagined the whole thing. If she had been so adamant on disliking the boy and picturing him as a borderline possessive creep, that her mind conjured this first meeting to play to her fears. Now, as she makes eye contact with him again, his eyes are less intense, less cutting into her and more drilling, but not in an unsettling way. He looks like anyone would look trying to figure out who this random white girl in a wheelchair was, rolling up on them. Chloe had managed to remain rolling along, though at a less enthusiastic pace when Connor, noticing his companion focusing on something behind him, turned and she officially lost her chance to startle him. However, the widening of his eyes almost made up for it and the puff of his cheeks definitely grabbed Chloe’s attention.

“Connor! You have fat cheeks!” She held her arms out to him, patting said cheeks with glee. His face flushing red while she squeezed and pulled on his face, distorting his sputters of confusion. The boyfriend, Markus, looked down and scoffed out a “ _woher_ ” and Connor, locked in Chloe’s grip, could only flail an arm back to punch him lightly. While Markus pretended to be hurt, Connor attempts to remove Chloe’s hands and immediately sets off into a tirade of half-formed questions.

“When did-?! Why are-?! How??” He kept peering at her as if testing her realness, and Chloe took the opportunity to reach up, again, and to pinch his cheeks once more, but was thwarted by a frenzied slap. She pouts and sighs in defeat.

“I will explain all to you, eventually Connor, just know that I’m healthy as can be so I was able to return!”

“And you couldn’t tell me? I could’ve asked my parents to pick you up or something.” Connor looks sad and Chloe feels like she’s done a horrible wrong.

“Ah, no I’m sorry, babe! I was, you guys move so much I was afraid I would jinx it if I told you and then we’d both be let down.” She shuffles closer and clasps his hands. “Please forgive me, baby, I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you cry. I never meant to-”

Connor cuts her off. “Do not turn this into a weird version of rickrolling, I swear to all that is holy, I will smite you.”

Chloe gasps in mock horror. “Connor, you can’t just cut off a rickroll! You’ll be cursed to face a ten-thousand-hour Nyan the Cat/Trololol remix!”

Connor makes a face that conveys so much disgust, Chloe can’t help but feel the urge to continue her usage of very outdated video memes, if a not so subtle throat clearing hadn’t interrupted her.

The voice was too feminine for it to be any of the two boys in front of her and Chloe found herself looking at a black woman, dressed in slacks and a beige blouse walk up to them. Her hair was French braided and wrapped into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she had the countenance of a queen.

Like, ok Detroit, I leave for a few years and suddenly everyone looks good?

“Sorry to interrupt you kids, but, Connor, will you need a ride back home today? I have other things to do today and need to leave within the next few minutes, so if you need a ride, we will need to leave rather soon.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you have a chauffeur now, Connor?”

“No, she’s my neighbour, and teacher, Ms Amanda Stern. She’s been giving me rides after school.”

“Which, more often than not, become impromptu tutoring sessions as someone seems to be unable to pay attention in my class.” She narrows her eyes at Connor, who casts a sheepish glance at Markus who, in turn, looks way too casual and Chloe can tell he is unashamed of the subtle accusation.

“Heh heh… yeah. Um-” He turns to Chloe. “I am going to call you the second I get home and then we are going to go out somewhere this weekend and catch up on everything.”

Chloe looks put out but agrees to it. She can only blame herself for choosing to surprise him without knowing his full schedule. Besides, maybe Fengmian will still be on the track. Oh, maybe a coach would be there and Chloe could see if she could get someone to let her into the athletics program.

“Alright, I guess. Nice meeting you Ms Stern.”

Ms Stern smiles at her, warmly, and bids her goodbye. When she turns to Markus, her goodbye is genuine, but slightly strained nonetheless. Hmm… Seems to be another person wary of Markus. Chloe decides she likes this woman.

After seeing Connor and Ms Stern off, Chloe attempts to give Markus the shovel-talk only to see that he’s already some ways away from her. In a huff, she goes after him.

“Wait! Wait! Um, shit, Markus, hold up a sec!” This causes the boy to pause and he looks at her with genuine shock.

“You know my name?”

Chloe fights rolling her eyes. “Like, duh! I’m Connor’s best friend! Of course, I know his first boyfriend’s name!”

The look that crosses his face can only be described as dopey and Chloe wonders where she even got the idea that this man was after her friend’s innocence. He looked so damned genuinely happy and in awe that Chloe felt herself loosening up the metaphorical noose she imagined around his throat.

“I don’t know what’s more wonderful, that he clearly mentions me to you or that I’m his first.” He looks down at her and crouches. Normally, Chloe would’ve found that offensive, but this boy was so damn tall and her wheelchair so short that she’s a bit thankful he did that as her own neck was starting to cramp with the angle she had her head craned.

Note to self for next doctor visit: Ask for a taller chair.

“Well, I guess I should introduce myself properly. My name is Markus Pfeiffer, currently the boyfriend of one Connor Foster. I hope we can be cool with each other?” He offers a fist and Chloe finds that she can appreciate that sentiment.

“I’m Chloe, just Chloe for now.” Markus didn’t need to know her last name and, frankly, Chloe didn’t feel quite comfortable with it. Fortunately, besides a widening of eyes, Markus let it slide as she returned the fist-bump. “I take it we are going to be seeing each other a lot, so who knows? Maybe we’ll form ourselves a little golden trio or something.” She tries for a smile and guesses Markus considers her genuine enough because he returns it and agrees.

Chloe isn’t sure how she feels about Markus, not yet. He’s hiding something and, for his sake, it better not cause any harm on Connor.

She watches him walk back to his car and then she herself turns around and heads back to the track, shooting her new guardians a text of the change in plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the gang's all here and queer! Sorry, there isn't much Connor/Chloe friendship or Markus/Connor relationship, but those will come later. For now, I hope you enjoyed Chloe being an aggressive bi and making her own friends. 
> 
> So, Fengmian Chen/Luna Garcia has been an OC of mine since the days of Fallout and she's a product of my mixed background and my friend's need for more Latino representation. Its pure coincidence that she shares the last name of Tina Chen, but it's not a coincidence that I am pointing that out. Either way, if y'all are worried this is going to become some sort of OC fest well... not really. All OCs will be for fleshing out the world basically and not having Chloe, Connor, and Markus in this bubble where they only interact with each other despite being parts of different social circles.

**Author's Note:**

> Pro Tip: It's all about the context.


End file.
